Olaniyan* (43) believed putting his entire ₦38 million savings into building rental apartments was a guaranteed path to early retirement. Nearly a decade later, a string of nightmare tenants has turned that “smart investment” into his biggest financial regret.

As Told To Boluwatife

In 2017, I thought I had cracked the code to financial security. I was wrong.

I was 34 and naively believed I was on the right path to partial retirement by 40. I’d been extremely disciplined with my finances for years. I didn’t have an expensive lifestyle or spend money without carefully considering each expense. 

My wife is also frugal, so it was easy for both of us to plan our expenses and live on the barest minimum. We mostly lived on her income while I saved mine. We had one goal in mind: to save enough to make a big investment that would secure our future.

By mid-2017, I had about ₦30 million saved. To me, there was only one smart thing to do with that kind of money: build a house and rent it out. I figured that in six years, I could afford to take a break from work and live on my rental income. 

Although I worked in a federal ministry parastatal, I made most of my money from my farming and mini-exportation side hustles. With steady income from rent, I could step back from juggling multiple things at once and keep my civil service job, which wasn’t as time-consuming.

I already owned land from an earlier investment when my wife and I got married, so we decided to use the entire ₦30 million to build a four-flat house on it.

Looking back now, I didn’t think deeply about it. I didn’t run the numbers, consider maintenance costs, or account for evil tenants. I was part of the school of thought that believed nothing could ever go wrong with investing in real estate. 

My entire reasoning was that people would always need somewhere to live. Even if everything else failed, my house would still be there, bringing in passive income.

I finished building the house in a year — I must’ve spent another ₦8 million in unexpected expenses. In 2018, my first set of tenants moved in. I honestly felt like I had arrived.

At first, everything seemed fine. They paid their rent, and I relaxed into the idea that I had made the best decision of my life.

Then, small issues started. One tenant brought in an electrician who did what I can only describe as magic while trying to connect her generator to her flat. When she turned on the generator, it blew some connections in the next tenant’s flat, so I had to redo the wiring. 

Another tenant was always fighting with his wife and disturbing the entire compound. Someone else was leaving the pumping machine on, letting water spill out of the tank for hours. Almost every week, a tenant would call me to settle one issue or another. 

I handled all this alone because I didn’t have a caretaker. I’d planned to pull in a distant relative to serve that function, but he insisted he’d only do it if he lived in one of the flats. It was an expensive option because it meant I’d have to forfeit rent. I rented the flats for between ₦650k – ₦750k/year. It wasn’t small money at all.

So, I managed the house and tenants myself. It was stressful, but I told myself it came with being a landlord. What I didn’t realise was that this was just the beginning.

Over the next few years, I experienced every type of tenant problem you can imagine. I had people damage the property and refuse to fix it, rent delays and even someone subletting a flat without telling me. Instead of passive income, the house became a full-time headache.

The money wasn’t even impressive. After expenses and repairs, what I earned yearly didn’t make up for the stress or the initial ₦38 million investment. Still, I held on. I kept telling myself it was an asset that would bring long-term benefits.

Then I met Joel*, the tenant who almost got me into real trouble.

Joel moved in around 2021. At first, he seemed responsible. He was married, but his family lived in a different state. Work brought him to the area, so he often stayed alone. His wife and kids only came during some weekends and long holidays. He seemed unproblematic, polite even.

But everything changed when his rent expired. The excuses started. 

“I’m working on it.”

“I need more time to gather the money.”

I tried to be understanding because he seemed like a reasonable person.

However, after three months of back-and-forth, I got tired and asked him to move out if he didn’t have the money. That’s when I began to see Joel’s true colours. This man told me to my face that I couldn’t send him out. I needed to serve him a legal six-month quit notice because he was a yearly tenant and couldn’t just leave.

It turned into a whole situation. When persuasion didn’t work, I resorted to threats, but he refused to budge. He insisted he needed a legal notice and an additional six months to “prepare” to leave. 

When I eventually got a lawyer involved, Joel started avoiding the house so the lawyer couldn’t serve him the notice. This went on for another month before he eventually received the quit notice.

Even after that, this man refused to pay. My lawyer explained to me that Joel was still supposed to pay me the six months’ rent during the notice period. But of course, he didn’t pay anything. 

Six months elapsed, but Joel still didn’t leave. My lawyer suggested taking him to court, but it felt like a complicated process. The court would take weeks, and I’d still spend money. What right did this tenant have to make me go through all of that on top of my own house? I felt cheated and disrespected.

So, one day, I snapped.

I went to the house with some area boys and forced him out. We removed his belongings from the apartment and threw them outside. To me, it felt justified. He had overstayed, refused to pay, and ignored multiple warnings.

I didn’t think about the legal consequences. A few hours later, Joel returned with police men. The officers said I’d done “unlawful eviction” and destroyed Joel’s property. 

I couldn’t believe it. I had spent ₦38 million building that house, and now I was the one in trouble because of it. I spent three nights in jail and paid bail of ₦150k before I was released.

After that, I had to go back to the court I had tried to avoid. Joel claimed I unlawfully evicted him, and it took four more months of court visits and plenty of explanations. I spent close to ₦500k in lawyer fees. 

In the end, Joel stopped appearing in court and quietly packed out on his own towards the end of 2023. When I learnt he’d left, I actually did thanksgiving in church. The experience was so traumatic. I still send curses his way whenever I randomly hear or see the name “Joel.”

I honestly regret investing everything in that house. If I had diversified my investments, I could have built something that didn’t depend on managing human behaviour every single day and would have made significantly more money.

It’s not like owning a house is bad; I just did it with the wrong intention. I thought it would bring me easy money and let me stop worrying about needing to work. But almost 10 years later, I’m not even close to retirement. 

The house is still there. I’m more careful with tenants these days, and I still make some money from rent. But my mindset has changed. It’ll never be the stress-free investment I’d hoped for. In fact, it’s been the most stressful financial decision of my life. I often wish I could turn back time and make better choices, but I can’t. I only have to look ahead and focus on what else I can do. 

The only small positive note is that the house is a legacy I can pass down to my children. I’m grateful for that.

*Names have been changed for the sake of anonymity.

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